


Cappricio a Colori

by clockworkrobots



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Jus in Bello Convention, M/M, allusions to Jensen/Danneel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:32:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkrobots/pseuds/clockworkrobots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen still doesn't know what it is about Misha that changes him, but he's happy to surrender himself to the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cappricio a Colori

**Author's Note:**

> just had fun imagining a little background to Jensen and Misha's antics at JIB con this year :')
> 
> title taken from the Italian title of [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=svD0CWVjYRY) short film!

  
Jensen's giddy from the moment he steps off the plane onto Italian soil. He'd have been giddy on the plane ride itself, too, if he hadn't slept pretty much the whole way, but once he's landed he finds can't calm the excitement that immediately bubbles within him at the thought of the coming week.

He's still doesn't understand how he can continually feel so at home in a foreign land that he only visits a couple of days a year, but those few days are always enough to buoy him through to the next. Maybe it's the removal from the States that provides a kind of freedom Jensen only really knows when he's outside of it. Not that back home is stifling, not that he doesn't love Texas still or relish the comfort of his home in L.A., but the air is... _different_ there. It's a different kind of existence to when he's up North filming or jet-setting around the world to make a fool of himself. Jensen never thought he'd covet the chance to do the latter, but well, he supposes that's what Misha Collins does to a person.

Jensen still doesn't know what it is about Misha that changes him either, makes him want more than he believes he deserves, makes him relearn  truths he'd thought untouchable. But Misha reaches them, with his deft fingers and open eyes, and entire being that dances with both danger and delicacy. Misha's a paradox, and Jensen thinks he will never tire of trying to figure him out. He'd long given himself over to the conflicting complexity of everything Misha stirs in him, for better or worse, and once that battle was surrendered he'd found himself feeling freer than he'd ever been.

He feels himself fly apart every time Misha's hands run down his back, but he knows by the next kiss, by the next heated groan of his name, he'll feel himself fit back together by those same fingers that grasp for him just as much as he's always falling forward to grasp back.

Such philosophical thoughts, of course, as Misha might teasingly but lovingly call them, are hard to conjure with much coherency in the moment, when Misha's seduction is turned on full force, when it's all Jensen can do but to solicit his kisses with his own enthusiastic mouth, with his own hands that know all the right places to make Misha gasp.

Exiting the airport, giddy-bound for the hotel, his skin prickles in anticipation.

 

-

 

They don't really find the space in their mutually hectic schedules to be alone until well into Thursday evening. Until then, it's all smiles and glances, and it's an easy enough pattern to fall into. 

At dinner, he's distracted from the conversation when his phone buzzes in his pocket--a text from Danneel. 

**From D [9:25 P.M.]:** _you caught him yet cowboy ;)_

Jensen can just _feel_ her knowing and indulgent smirk from across the ocean. He smiles as he begins to type back:

**To D [9:25 P.M.]:** _He's not really the type of fish you catch, more of the swim to you type._

When he looks back up from his phone, Ty is finishing making a joke that Jensen didn't hear, and Misha's lips curl up around his teeth as he laughs, eyes and nose crinkling in a way that almost should look absurd but really is nothing but adorable. Jensen's fingers twitch to touch. Instead he grins, and by the way Misha catches his eye, he knows he's given himself away. Well, _good_.

He feels his phone vibrate in his hand again.

**From D [9:28 P.M.]:** _maybe he should learn to swim faster_

As he's in the middle of typing out another reply, he hears a whisper at his ear. "You know, you could always just jump in the water with me."

Jensen looks up with a start to find Misha looming over his shoulder from behind his chair. "That would defeat the fun of fishing," he says back automatically.

"Ah yes, but we'd both get wonderfully slippery and wet in the process, if you catch my drift," Misha smirks, and Jensen can't help but burst out laughing. Thankfully, the fit of laughter covers his blush.

Misha considers him thoughtfully for a moment, face softening into a tender gaze, and Jensen almost has the inclination to blush further. "You want to get out of here?" he asks.

His chair scrapes against floor as Jensen gives an enthusiastic " _Yes._ "

They're almost at the door when his phone lights up again.

**From D [9:35 P.M.]:** _what are you doing right now?_

**To D [9:35 P.M.]:** _Having fish for dinner ;)_

 

-

 

On the Saturday night, they're abandoned on the streets of Rome by their friends instead. It's really more of a mutual parting, but Misha indulges in bemoaning the event with the only appropriate level of hyperbole for an atrocity such as this. It makes him look ridiculous, and Jensen loves it. Enclosed by the shadow of an empty side-street, Jensen chooses to shut him up with a kiss.

"Ah, feeling a little forward tonight, are we _signor Ackles_?" Misha grins. "Or is the wine sitting too sweet on your tongue?"

If Jensen's honest, he'll concede that it's a little of both, but there's no way he's giving Misha a victory that soon and out loud. "Hmm, well if it was the wine, I wish I'd had more--tasted better than you at least," he jokes as they pull back into the centre of the road, walking downhill towards a fountain they can see at the end of it.

Misha scoffs in mock affront. "You have terrible taste then."

"I know, really the worst. I'm hanging out with you, aren't I?"

"An honour you should be _grateful_ to have bestowed upon you."

"A terrible honour it is then. I'll bear it."

"Oh, you'll love it," Misha drawls, laughter barely contained in his throat. Perhaps he flirted a bit too much with the wine as well.

Jensen smiles. "That too."

They stop walking when they hit the fountain, located in the middle of a small square at the juncture of a couple streets. It's busier here than it had been up the road. A few tourists mingle about, couples, even some children, running around long past their bed time as their laughter blends with the trickling sound of water. Jensen takes a deep breath and leans against the edge of the fountain, cool breeze spurting off from it and onto the back of his neck.

Misha makes a full turn of the centrepiece, admiring the general splendour, before settling down next to him.

"What is it about this city, do you think?" Jensen asks after a beat of silence. He knows he won't have to elaborate on what he means.

"Maybe because it's ancient," Misha muses, eyes twinkling with mirth under the street lamplight. "So old it feels like we could be frozen in time forever if we stood here long enough." He glances at Jensen out of the corner of his eye, before elbowing him, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Maybe you're just a hopeless romantic at heart."

Misha's unyielding manner, is, as always, infectious. "Aw, that was downright poetic."

"I am published, I'll have you know."

"And _I'm_ the hopeless romantic?"

"Ah, see, I'm _hopeful,_ " he corrects, smiling.

"Aren't you just," Jensen says softly, as something in his chest swells.

 

-

 

Despite what the movies try and tell you, Jensen had never really believed in the "fall in love all at once" thing. Maybe it was being _in_ movies that ruined that magic, made it seem more of a myth, or maybe Jensen was just not the right man for that sort of thing, always imagining instead that falling in love would be a gradual tumble, or a slow descending of stairs--something where he could see every step of the way ahead.

It was like that with others, with his wife most of all, whom he'd known forever, slipping into friendship with the greatest ease that over time, with the same momentum, couldn't help but blossom into something more. 

It was never like that with Misha.

Jensen wonders if that's what happens with everyone when they first meet him; Misha seems like the kind of man that makes everyone fall in love with him. Jensen's equal parts elated and terrified to be someone that Misha loves _back_. Terrified, only because the force of whatever this is between them is often overwhelming in its zeal and allure. It's less like   _walking_ down stairs and more like tripping all the way to the bottom. 

That will be Jensen excuse for falling into bed with him again later-- _literally_. 

Somehow heated make outs turn into backing against the bed, and before Jensen knows it he's canting backwards to loose his balance, and tumbling backwards onto the mattress. Before Misha he used to have such an resilient centre of gravity.

Misha, of course, is endlessly amused at the sight, although gives him respite by climbing up to join him. "A little _too_ enthusiastic, I see," he grins, thighs straddling his lap as Jensen lies back against the bedspread. He hovers over the enduring evidence of Jensen's enthusiasm, as his erection strains against his jeans.

"Shut up, I'm as graceful as a swan," Jensen jokes back, breath a little heavy still, face flushed with the same heat as his cock.

Misha leans down to put their mouths back to more productive use. He kisses his mouth with fervour before moving across his newly grown beard. "Hate to break it to you, but you're really weird looking for a swan," he says against his jaw.

"In _your_ league, then," Jensen laughs--or tries to, already too close to breathless. His hips twitch up of their own volition, seeking friction.

"Thank _god_ ," Misha breathes out with exaggerated relief. He leans back up for a moment to divest himself of his his two shirt combo, leaning back even further to accomodate Jensen shifting up to do the same. Jensen is faster due the clever idea he had earlier of only wearing one layer of clothing. He decides to help Misha out in his own stripping by dragging the heel of his palm across Misha's cock through his pants.

It is, perhaps, a little counterintuitive, for Misha stutters in his motion of shucking his t-shirt. " _Jesus,"_ he groans, before throwing his undershirt to join the rest of the clothes already on the floor.

"No, _Jensen,_ " he mock corrects, unashamedly leering at Misha's naked chest. His eyes get lost for a moment in the frankly _ridiculous_ dip and curve of Misha's collarbone. He's sure his mouth will get lost in the same place later.

Misha groans again for a different reason, because bad jokes are bad jokes no matter how handsome the person they come from. Suddenly, he jumps off the bed with a wink. "My mistake, I thought I was about to fuck Jesus," he says, trying for a straight face. He fails  _spectacularly_   and laughs heartily as he unzips his jeans to pull off his pants.

"You're _so_ lucky we're not at the Vatican right now," Jensen half-heartedly chastises, following suit from his spot on the bed in getting the rest of his clothes off.

Finally naked, Misha climbs back onto the bed, cock bobbing in the air, as rearing to go as ever. "Oh! Great idea, we should totally have sex at the Vatican later," he suggests as he kisses him again.

Jensen honestly can't tell if Misha's serious. "That's probably a criminal offence, man," he responds warily, before making good on his promise to himself and tracing Misha's collar his his tongue.

Misha waves him off. "Nah, all the popes have done it. Have you ever seen  _The Borgias_?"

Which makes Jensen pull back and laugh, head thrown back and whole frame shaking. "As if _you_ of all people were hired to play a virgin angel on TV."

"I know, I'm a master at my craft," Misha says, before a hand that had crept down without Jensen noticing cups his balls and then drags itself up along the length of his shaft. 

" _Jesus Christ_ ," it's Jensen's turn to moan, hands clutching at Misha's back. 

"No, _Misha_ ," he corrects, and Jensen supposes he deserved that. Misha brings his hand back down to encircle his cock to start getting him off in earnest.

"Oh, fuck you," Jensen breathes against Misha's neck.

His breath is hot against Jensen's already sweat ridden temples. "Yeah, that was the idea," he breathes back.

Their first round that night is quick, eager and desperate as they rut against each other. Jensen comes against Misha's stomach with a muffled cry, hands carded through Misha's ever-unruly hair. His skin fizzles with the electrified feeling of static, as they collapse into the other's heat, happily requited.

"All jokes aside, I really do love it here, in Rome," Misha says quietly, awhile and another orgasm after. The sincerity in his voice suggests a second meaning.

"Yeah," Jensen replies, face pressed into a pillow. He sighs contentedly, lips quirking up as he adds with all the layered meaning that he can: "me too."


End file.
